


the laws of motion

by starxreactor



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Amnesia, Angst, Brain Damage, Canon Divergence - Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, James "Rhodey" Rhodes is a Good Bro, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slight Suicidal Ideation, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-10
Updated: 2020-01-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:48:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22202848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starxreactor/pseuds/starxreactor
Summary: Rhodey stares at him for a very long time, enough that Tony starts to feel uncomfortable, and he never feels that way around Rhodey. “Tony,” he says quietly, “do you know what year it is?”There’s a prickly sensation in the middle of his chest, a hot, heady flush forming on his cheeks as he realizes that that’s not a normal question to ask someone. It takes him a few moments, but eventually, he meekly says, “2007?” feeling as if he’s going to get the answer wrong no matter what he says. He hates feeling like that. Only Dad made him feel like that.-Tony wakes up, and he doesn't remember anything. Not the Avengers. Not the Civil War. Not Steve Rogers. Not Iron Man.
Relationships: James "Rhodey" Rhodes & Tony Stark, Steve Rogers & Tony Stark
Comments: 6
Kudos: 34





	the laws of motion

**Author's Note:**

> For Fury, who immediately begged me to finish this when I mentioned I had this fic lying around since like 2016.
> 
> This isn't meant to shit on anyone. It's 2020 and I'm tired of Civil War discourse. So no, there will be no Steve bashing. 
> 
> Warning for one line where Tony mentions wanting to die. It's not explicitly meant to be a suicidal thought, but the implication is there.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Every object in a state of uniform motion will remain in that state of motion unless an external force acts on it.”

Tony blinks groggily, moaning at the feeling of knives stabbing his head. “Wha…” he slurs, trying to lift his head. That must have been some party, if it was enough to actually give him a hangover afterwards. His head is throbbing in a way that he only gets with his migraines, not when he gets blackout drunk. Shame he doesn’t remember what he did, though hopefully some hot blonde is next to him in bed to remind him.

“Tony?” Wait—that’s Rhodey. What’s Rhodey doing here? Didn’t he have a mission? Tony could have sworn he saw him off a few days ago.

With difficulty, Tony manages to open his eyes, squinting at the blurry scene before him. All he can see is white. Turning his head—though he regrets it—he spots a dark blob in front of him. “C—cupcake? What’re you doin’ here?”

“Why wouldn’t I be here, Tony? I was worried about you!”

“You don’t need to worry about me,” Tony mumbles, eyes half-closed. If Rhodey’s here, there’s probably no European supermodel in bed because he would have said something already. Tragic. “It was jus’ a party.”

There’s a pause, a very loaded one, and hesitantly, Rhodey says, with pure confusion lacing his tone, “Tony, you don’t party.”

Tony finally blinks his eyes open at that, trying his hardest to focus on Rhodey’s face. It’s still a bit blurry, but he can at least make out the features now. “Huh,” he says, wondering whether something hit Rhodey in the head. He’s certain he goes to parties. He’s Tony Stark, after all. 

Though, oddly, he can’t recall much of anything. All he knows for certain is that this is definitely not his bed. Glancing around, he realizes he’s in a hospital room. Did he nearly die from alcohol poisoning again or something? It wouldn’t be the first time, but Tony hasn’t gone that far in years.

“...Do you not remember what happened?”   
  
“Not really,” he admits. Trying to think of anything just brings a jumbled blur of colors to mind, and he can’t quite make anything out. It should be the norm for a wild party, all alcohol and drugs and flashing lights, the scent of sex and smoke thick in the air, but Rhodey’s saying that didn’t happen, so now he has no idea what could  _ have _ happened.

“It was Steve, Tony,” Rhodey says softly, as if he expects Tony to break apart from the news, like Tony is fragile and vulnerable. “You had a big fight all the way in Siberia. I don’t know why, you never told me. Then a day later, you collapsed in your workshop.”   
  
Tony wonders if Rhodey is the one who needs to be in the hospital bed, because he does not understand a word Rhodey had just said. Why would Tony be in Siberia, of all places?  _ Fighting? _ And who the hell is  _ Steve _ ? A one-night stand? He’ll admit, he doesn’t usually go for men—it’s harder, in a way, involves a lot of trust since he’s not out to the public, but there have been occasions when he’s too drunk and high to give a shit. “Steve?”   


Rhodey gives him a weird look, as if Tony should know what the fuck he’s going on about. “Steve? Steve Rogers? The guy who caused an international political mess and fucked off to let you deal with it?”

“Like Captain America?” Tony asks in confusion. The drugs must be getting to him, or Rhodey took a bigger hit on the mission than it may have seemed. “Captain America’s dead.”

Rhodey stares at him for a very long time, enough that Tony starts to feel uncomfortable, and he never feels that way around Rhodey. “Tony,” he says quietly, “do you know what year it is?”

There’s a prickly sensation in the middle of his chest, a hot, heady flush forming on his cheeks as he realizes that that’s not a normal question to ask someone. It takes him a few moments, but eventually, he meekly says, “2007?” feeling as if he’s going to get the answer wrong no matter what he says. He  _ hates  _ feeling like that. Only Dad made him feel like that.

Rhodey closes his eyes, but gives no other indication of what he’s feeling or thinking. “FRIDAY, call the doctor.”

“You got it, Rhodey.” 

Tony jumps at the unfamiliar Irish lilt, the very feminine voice. That—who is  _ that _ ? Where’s JARVIS? JARVIS would never speak like that.

“JARVIS?” he asks. “Where you at, buddy?”

Rhodey looks as if he’s been struck. “I don’t know how to tell you this.”   
  
“Tell me what?” Tony’s hands fist in the sheets, tension turning his muscles to stone despite not even knowing what’s wrong. He just…  _ feels  _ all wrong. Like he’s been turned inside out, used, discarded like trash.   
  
Rhodey looks at him with something that looks uncomfortably close to pity, before he breathes in deeply and lets it out. “It’s not 2007, Tones. It’s 2016.”

Then that would mean—“N—no,” Tony stammers, “that’s impossible. Are you saying I time traveled?”   
  
Rhodey stares at him with absolute bafflement. “Why would you automatically assume you time traveled?”   
  
Tony shrugs. Tries to, at least. Every twitch sends a jolt of pain up his left arm and into his chest—and, actually, why is it so hard to breathe? It’s like there is a weight on his chest, heavy and unyielding. Tony is no stranger to the albatross hanging around his neck, but this is the first time he’s felt this—an iron-like pressure weighing his chest down. “It seems like something I would do,” he says in a lighter tone than he feels, forcing a smile.   
  
He can physically see the fight in Rhodey to not roll his eyes. “Amnesia, you idiot. It’s probably amnesia. Not time travel. Jesus.” Rhodey presses a hand against his face, and Tony barely hears him mutter, “Wouldn’t be out of the realm of possibility, at any rate.”

Before Tony can begin to comment on that, a young Asian woman rushes into the room with a clipboard. “FRIDAY told me that Tony didn’t remember anything.”

Rhodey nods, worry in his eyes. “It’s normal, isn’t it, Helen? For a head injury.”   
  
“Yes, but something tells me this may be a bit more severe.” Helen turns to Tony. “What year did you say it was?”   
  
A hot, itchy feeling crawls up the back of his neck. Tony doesn’t even know  _ why  _ he’s so embarrassed. Usually he would be flirting with her by now—even if he doesn’t actually mean it—but somehow, he can’t bring himself to do it at the moment. Everything is upside down, leaving him floundering, for once in his life. He hasn’t felt so lost since—since his parents—“2007,” he says again, just as quietly. 

If Rhodey is to be believed—and who is he kidding, Rhodey’s never lied—then it’s been nine years.  _ Nine _ fucking  _ years _ . All gone. Locked away in his head where he can’t reach them. 

“I see. So that means that you don’t even know about—” Her eyes stray to the side, to Rhodey, and she cuts herself off. “Never mind.”   
  
“Know what?” Tony says, suddenly irritated. Irritated with Rhodey, with whoever this Helen is and her need to be vague, with the fact that he’s woken up with a nine-year-long gap in his memory, that he can’t move without feeling pain in his chest.

“It’s not important.”

“It sounds pretty important,” Tony says hotly, “and you might as well tell me right now, because I’m going to find out anyway.”

“Hey, Tony, calm down,” Rhodey says. His hand comes up and grips Tony’s right arm, the one that’s not injured. “We’ll tell you everything, okay? Just wait a few minutes while we figure things out.”

“I’m not a child,” Tony huffs, and turns his head so that he doesn’t have to look at Rhodey anymore. 

“No,” Rhodey says agreeably, “you’re not. But you have a traumatic brain injury and are apparently suffering from amnesia. Before anything else, we need to figure out where to go from there.”

“He’s right,” Helen says. She taps her clipboard with her nails, and adds, “I’m going to need to carry out several tests in order to see the extent of the damage.”

Tony wants to argue, but he’s not antagonistic by nature, no matter what people think—he much prefers to deflect and avoid—so he relents. He’s tired, so very tired. Tony didn’t even know a body could ache this much. But then, he’s nine years older than he thinks, and that means he’s over forty. 

Well, that’s going to take some getting used to.

Idly, as Helen goes through routine questions and examinations, he wonders what he’s been doing for nine years. Is he still partying and drinking his life away? Except, no, Rhodey said he doesn’t party, which is just bizarre. Not because he enjoys parties—there’s a part of him that hates his reputation, hates how it’s been warped and corrupted, hates how people think it’s an excuse to get him to do whatever they want—but because it’s all he knows. Obie always tells him it’s fine, though, that he’s living up to his father’s legacy, that it’s all he’s good for. What use is Tony Stark if he’s not giving all he has to the people?

“Where’s Obie?” Tony asks Rhodey suddenly. He hates being in this cold, unfamiliar room with only one friend for company. He wants Obie, the person he trusts most in the world, whose very presence can make Tony feel safer, with the scent of thousand-dollar whiskey and those cigars Tony hates but still remind him of comfort and home.

Rhodey freezes, and isn’t it odd that he hasn’t moved at all from his place beside Tony’s bed? “He…” He swallows hard, and it’s that moment that Tony regrets opening his mouth—hell, opening his eyes and waking up to a world he doesn’t know—because Rhodey never shies away from the truth, from telling Tony what’s what to his face. “He’s… not the person you think he is, Tony.”

Tony stares at Rhodey, wondering if he’s hearing wrong. He never gets angry at Rhodey, but he can’t help but feel as if he hates him right now, even though he knows he’ll be guilty for that later. “Excuse me, but I think I would know my godfather better than you.”

“Well, as it turned out, you don’t.”   
  
_ “Where is he, Jim?”  _ Tony hisses immediately, hackles up. 

“Dead,” Rhodey says simply. 

Tony recoils as much as possible. Realistically, he knows it was a long time coming. Obie was not that much younger than Dad, and Dad was  _ old  _ at the time of his death. But he can’t help but feel horrified, as if he’s in some strange nightmare.  _ It’s not fair _ , Tony thinks,  _ that I have to wake up nine years in the future not knowing a thing about what happened _ . “How—” he pauses, takes a second to lick his dry lips, “—how did it—happen? It wasn’t painful, was it?” That’s all Tony can hope, that he passed away peacefully and not in some sort of agony.

“God, Tony, how can you say that after—” Rhodey pauses, looks at him for an uncomfortably long time, then runs a hand down his face tiredly. “No. It’s not your fault. You don’t know.”   
  
“Enlighten me,” Tony challenges. 

Rhodey frowns down at his lap, not making eye contact. Then he begins to speak, haltingly, and as he goes on Tony wishes that he had never spoken, that he had never woken up. “Stane, he—Christ, how do I say this? He didn’t care about you, Tony. I’m sorry to say that, but it’s true. He hired a bunch of terrorists to murder you, except they decided to take you as a prisoner instead because you were useful, but that doesn’t matter right now. He tried to have you killed, and when that didn’t work, he tried to kill you himself, but,” Rhodey chuckles, “you and Pepper sorted that shit out. The two of you killed him, in the end.”   
  
“No,” Tony chokes out, “that’s not true. Obie would never—you’re insane. Maybe  _ you’re _ the one with the damaged head,” he says accusingly.

“Trust me, it’s not my head that’s damaged,” Rhodey says patiently, and what the hell? “I’m not going to judge you for whatever bullshit you spew right now, because you’re understandably upset, but just know you’re probably going to regret it later.”

“Obie…” Tony murmurs, struck. His head is foggy, and the only thing resounding through his mind are Rhodey’s words. It’s as if he’s stuck in a trance, because nothing else registers with him.  _ He tried to have you killed, and when that didn’t work out, he tried to kill you himself.  _ “He loves me. He wouldn’t try to kill me.”

Rhodey’s voice is gentle, gentler than it has ever been. The last time he spoke so softly to Tony was immediately after his parents died. “But he did, Tones.”   
  
Tony doesn’t respond. He still doesn’t believe it. Maybe if he closes his eyes, the next time he wakes up everything will be back to normal. He turns his head and shuts his eyes. It’s a clear sign for Rhodey to leave. 

There’s a sigh, and then a hand brushes his shoulder. “Alright, I get the message. Pepper will be around later, when she’s free.” Then there’s the sound of squeaking wheels, and though it confuses Tony he stubbornly doesn’t look over. No one speaks to him, after, so he supposes Rhodey left.

His head is fuzzy, and his body light, and Tony soon finds himself succumbing to blackness.

The first thing Tony feels when he wakes up is disappointment. It wasn’t a dream. He really is in the future. And there’s still no leggy, hot blonde in bed beside him.

He looks to the side and spots Pepper seated next to him, tapping at a large black rectangle that looks to be like some sort of tablet. She looks as put-together as always, but her eyes are slightly tinged pink. He attempts to say her name, but what comes out is a cough. 

Pepper startles and sets down the tablet. “Tony!” Well, that’s new. She’s always referred to him as “Mr. Stark.” It’s professional and all. “How are you feeling?”   
  
“Like shit,” Tony mumbles.

It’s almost as if the laugh forces its way out of Pepper’s mouth, painful-sounding and tinged with blood. “I’m sure,” she says. “Would you like some water?” She picks up a glass from the side table, and, at Tony’s nod, brings it to his mouth. Tony wants to argue that he can do it himself, but the glass is already there and his mouth is hellishly dry, so he sips from it. 

“Thank you, Ms. Potts,” he says when she sets the glass back down. He may be a heartless playboy, but he does know when to be professional and respectful. Though, seeing the way that makes Pepper flinch, he may still have done something wrong. “What’s wrong?”

“I just…” Pepper frowns, biting her lip. “It’s been a while since you’ve called me that. You’re not exactly my boss anymore.”   
  
Tony blinks, registers the words. He had vowed early on that he would do everything in his power to keep Pepper with him for as long as possible. “I’m not? What did I do to make you leave?” he asks with resignation. He fucks up everything, so of course he ruined what little relationship he had with Pepper.   
  
“No, no, nothing like that. You promoted me, actually.” She gets a sheepish smile, the kind that she only gets when she’s alone with Tony after a long day. “You’re looking at the current CEO of Stark Industries.”

Tony thinks about that. “I never liked paperwork anyway,” he says after a beat.

Pepper rolls her eyes. “You still have to do it. And amnesia doesn’t exempt you, either. I expect you to show up to your meetings once you’re out of the hospital.”

“That doesn’t seem right,” Tony starts nervously, but is cut off.

“You’re smart, you’ll catch up. Besides, it’s mostly technical stuff. You just need to be there. Now hold on, I have to answer this email.” Pepper picks the tablet back up and starts tapping at it again.

Tony watches with interest. If there’s one good thing to come out of this whole amnesia business, it’s that he can learn about how much technology has advanced in the last nine years. He’d had a few ideas with touchscreen electronics, but he’d never gotten around to actually developing the technology. That’s what happens when your legacy is to design and build weapons for the military.

“Pepper,” he says after a few minutes of silence. He didn’t actually want to say anything to her, he was just testing her name on his tongue, running it over his lips. But it catches her attention anyway.

“Yes?”

“I—is it true?” he blurts without thinking. “What Rhodey said, about Obie.”   
  
Her bright blue eyes dim, losing the fire in them. “It is. I’m sorry, Tony. I wish things didn’t happen the way they did.”   
  
Tony frowns, licks his lips. He’s going to explode soon, he knows it. “Get out,” he says firmly, not wanting Pepper to be in the line of fire. 

Pepper doesn’t hesitate. She knows him so well, the goddess that she is. She simply gathers up her belongings, presses a kiss to Tony’s cheek, and leaves, the clack of her heels following her. 

Tony lightly hits his hand against the bed. “Dammit,” he hisses. He doesn’t want to believe it, he knows Obie is dead, he’ll accept that much, but he  _ can’t  _ believe that he would try to kill him. Yeah, he had a mean streak, said shit that made Tony force out laughter because he couldn’t exactly disagree, but he’d known Tony since he was a baby. He was his  _ godfather _ . What could Tony have done to make Obie hate him so much?

Tony grabs the glass at the side of his bed, hurls it against the wall. It splinters into a thousand shards, the glass sparkling like diamonds. The water splashes against the floor, puddling around the shattered glass. Somehow, it’s a perfect metaphor for what he’s feeling right now.

He pulls his knees up as far as he can without feeling pain, breath hitching. One lone tear breaks its way through his carefully constructed barrier, and suddenly it’s like a waterfall. He can’t stop the tears from coming.

He doesn’t want this—this strange, cold world where Obie tried to kill him multiple times and JARVIS is missing. Where he’s no longer the Tony Stark he knows, the one who’s lost himself to parties and drugs and alcohol, because that implies the worst thing of all: that he  _ is _ capable of becoming better.

Tony leans over his knees, hugging them, and sobs what would be his heart out if he had a heart.

Tony meets JARVIS eventually. 

Or, at least, what is left of JARVIS. Rhodey and Pepper never really explained what happened but he got FRIDAY, the AI, to explain most of it. He knows there’s a few things she left out because they seem to be in a time where androids are considered normal. Technology has leaped far ahead than Tony had even expected.

He wanted to die when she first said it. He wanted to go to sleep and never wake up again, because living while Obie is dead and evil is hard enough, but knowing that JARVIS is gone all because of him? That’s even harder. JARVIS was like—like his  _ son _ . He had created him by himself, spent sleepless nights and long hours toiling over the code, to produce a marvel of technology. 

And Tony killed him.

He’d taken JARVIS for granted. Tony always assumed that even when he inevitable drove everyone else away from him, and he was left alone, he would always have JARVIS, because JARVIS was  _ his _ . And now he knows just how untrue that is. Now, when everyone does leave him, he’ll completely be on his own, just like how it’s always been.

Tony sighs, studying the newest Starkphone (they make those now, apparently), when a pink man walks in. He startles for a second, before realizing it’s just Vision, the android who has what’s left of JARVIS’ code in him. When he first heard that he thought it was some sort of elaborate prank, not because he doesn’t believe it’s possible, but because he didn’t think what they were describing made any sort of scientific sense.

“Hello, Mr. Stark, how are you feeling this morning?”   
  
Hearing JARVIS’ voice come out of there but knowing it’s not JARVIS—hurts. Tony hasn’t felt this wounded since his parents’—well, he can’t remember the last time he’s allowed himself to feel hurt like this, is the point. Usually he’s too drugged up to give a shit about anything but the next willing body.

“The same as always,” he answers vaguely. He wants to get out of here. His hands are itching to mess with something, and he hasn’t had a drink in days. Strangely enough, though, he doesn’t feel any sort of withdrawal symptoms. 

“I have no doubt.” Vision talks in a low, muted tone, as though he doesn’t believe he has the right to speak to Tony. Despite Vision’s being an android, Tony can see even from his bed that Vision’s eyes are dull and that he’s clearly upset about something. He takes a second to admire the fact that he feels genuine emotion like any regular human. Vision really is a marvel of bioengineering.

If Tony were a better person, he would try and talk about whatever’s bothering Vision. But he lost his soul long ago, so he ignores it and stays quiet. Instead, he shifts, hands idly messing with his blanket. He really doesn’t want to talk to Vision and hear only reminders of JARVIS, who’s gone. Gone because of Tony. “How pissed do you think everyone’d get if I left this place?”   
  
Vision shakes his head. “Mr. Stark, I can’t condone that.”   
  
“But you’re not going to stop me.”   
  
Vision deflates slightly. “I am not.” He sounds resigned. “I don’t want to—make any choices for anyone else anymore.”

Tony shrugs and shuffles out of bed, ignoring the pain that resonates within his chest and head. Vision stands there silently, watching as he leaves. “Hasta la vista, baby,” Tony shoots off cheekily as he heads through the doorway. He winks at Vision, and then he’s off. 

Realistically, he knows Pepper or Rhodey or that doctor, Helen, will catch him.  _ FRIDAY  _ probably has already alerted one of them. But he’s absolutely sick of that unfamiliar room. He doesn’t even know why they’re keeping him in there. He’s perfectly capable of walking, and he’s recovered enough that he doesn’t even need an IV to be attached to him. 

It’s only a few moments later that he realizes he actually has no idea where to go. Tony sighs. “FRIDAY, where’s my lab?” If this is where 2016 Tony Stark lives, then there’s a lab. Probably multiple.   
  
FRIDAY doesn’t seem too happy about answering, but she dutifully gives him the directions. 

“Thanks,” Tony says softly. He goes through the winding hallways, luckily not having run into anyone yet. It’s almost as though this compound has been deserted, which doesn’t seem right. Once again, not a lot has been explained to him. It’s almost as though they’ve been keeping him blindfolded just to hide the truth from him like he’s a child. 

He’s not, though. He deserves to know what’s going on. He’s going to have to relearn his life here, after all. 

Tony lets out a sigh of relief when the door to his workshop slides open. The lab is completely different from the one in his mansion, less soft in its shapes and design, more sleek and modern, but it’s still familiar to him. Still home. The bots perk up when he enters, and he smiles to himself. Nice to know something is consistent in his life for once when everything else has been inverted, turned upside down, and stepped on.

There’s a lot he’s learned over the past few days, most of it information from FRIDAY and the Internet (he knows she’s controlling what he can see, and normally he would argue, but he just doesn’t have the energy. Besides, she tends to answer all the questions he has, and he has  _ a lot _ ). He likes FRIDAY. She’s nice, but completely different from JARVIS. More of a… spitfire. JARVIS was snarky, sure, but he still had class. FRIDAY’s perky, cheerful, and completely lacking the poshness of her predecessor.

It’s refreshing, in a way. She’s still so young, so new to everything. She lacks… JARVIS’ restraints. Tony loves her. There’s still an ache in his chest when he thinks about JARVIS, but FRIDAY is special in her own way, and Tony loves her just as much. She’s not just a replacement for JARVIS. She’s another one of his kids.

She’s the only one he’s been able to really connect with since waking up—even more than Rhodey. Tony had found out two days into his hospital stay that an accident had left him paralyzed from the waist down. To find that out… he had not been happy that day. He’s still not happy, and that may or may not be the reason why he’s avoiding him—even without considering the fact that Rhodey has nine years worth of memories with Tony that he is now missing. A lot can happen in that time.

In fact, the entire reason he came to the workshop was so he could build some walking braces for Rhodey. It’s not fair that Tony’s lying around in bed when he’s fully capable of helping Rhodey when he can’t walk. 

But before he gets started on that… there’s something a bit more imperative for the moment. “FRIDAY, talk to me about Steve Rogers.” Tony moves his hand upwards, and a holoscreen pops up. He’s still elated to see that, because in his time (not his time this is his time) he still has to make do with holoscreens only in specific locations.

“What d’you want to know?” FRIDAY says hesitantly.

Tony starts up a new project. “I know he’s Captain America. They found him, alive?”

“They did, about four years ago.”   
  
Tony frowns, twisting his mouth. “Can’t imagine he’d adjusted very well.” He’s only missed nine years, and he’s barely coping. To deal with seventy? That’s unimaginable.   
  
There’s a pause. “No, I don’t think so. From the files I have on him from early on, he was definitely depressed and suffering from survivor’s guilt, probably from PTSD, as well. But he never saw a therapist for it. No one ever made him, nor did he ever take the initiative himself.”   
  
He doesn’t bother asking why. He would have done the same in Rogers’ position. “How do I contact him? Rhodey didn’t say much but he did imply that I knew him. He said… something about fighting in Siberia. Didn’t make much sense.” For a moment, Tony is taken back to all those times his dad would mock him for being so weak, tell him that Captain America was far stronger than him, and that he would beat him up if he ever showed such weakness to him. 

Tony pushes the memory away. He hates Captain America, hates what he did to his family. If it weren’t for him, they would have been happy. They would have been a proper family, with a happy mom, and dad, and son. Maybe Tony wouldn’t have turned into this grotesque being if that had happened.

But... he wants to talk to him all the same. Just to get some answers, something he hasn’t had for a long time. There’s one main question on his mind, though: why would Captain America fight him near to the death? (He already knows the answer, but he doesn’t want to admit it, because as soulless as he is, there’s a small part of him holding out hope that maybe one day, he’ll have proof that he has a heart). 

The silence this time is longer, less comfortable. “Rhodey wouldn’t like this.”   
  
“But what about what I like? I want to talk to him, FRI.” And there he is, already giving nicknames to a creation he’s only known for a few days. Part of him is moving on, but Tony isn’t too sure he wants to. 

“He sent a package a few days ago,” FRIDAY says eventually. “It came on the second day you woke up. Rhodey checked it out and nearly threw the entire thing into the trash, but I convinced him to keep it. I knew you would have wanted it. He agreed eventually.”

“Thank you,” Tony says, feeling a warmth in his chest at the thought of FRIDAY considering his feelings. “Where is it right now?”

“It’s on your couch.” Tony turns, spotting the couch in question, and the package on top of the cushions. It’s opened, but he doesn’t think the contents inside have been messed with. There’s a letter on top, which he sets aside for now, and he reaches inside the box, pulling out a flip phone that is more like the phones out during his time (not his time not his time). 

There’s only one number programmed in it, listed under the contact “Roger,” which Tony supposes is Captain America’s way of trying to hide his identity. It’s not very well done. He chooses the number and holds the phone against his ear, listening to the dial tone. 

It barely takes more than a second for Captain America—Rogers? Steve? What does he call him usually?— to pick up. “Tony,” he breathes into the phone, “I didn’t think you’d call so soon.”   
  
“How long has it been?” Tony asks.

“Since I sent the phone? Uh, five days ago, I think.” There’s a pause, the sound of a deep sigh. “Did you read the letter?”   
  
Tony glances at the unopened envelope. “Not yet.”   
  
“Good,” Captain America says. “It’s—not my greatest work. I kind of regret writing it, actually, so if you never read it that’s fine. Tony, I’m so, so sorry. I know—nothing can ever make up for what I did.”   


Presumably nearly killing him in Siberia—not that Tony knows for certain what happened. Everyone has been particularly tight-lipped about that. But why would he be sorry for it? Whatever Tony had done, he probably deserved it. “Why did you do it?”

“Why did I—Tony, are you sure? That you want to know? And—are you okay? I’m kind of… surprised you’re talking to me so calmly, quite frankly.” He truly does sound concerned, which is odd. If they had a big fight and all, why would Captain America still care about him?   
  
Tony is surprised, too, if he’s honest. He’s always imagined what he would say to Captain America when he met him for the first time, though he never actually thought it would become reality. He imagined shouting at him, screaming at him, for destroying his family—for making his father obsess over a legacy frozen in time, for making his mother a faint shadow of what she could have been, for making Tony a heartless monster incapable of happiness. 

It had been cathartic to imagine, sometimes. Just letting it all out. It’s not happening right now, though. Now is not the time.   
  
“I’m fine. Why did you do it?” he repeats.

“I… god, there’s a lot of reasons.” There’s a long pause, a very pregnant one, where Captain America seems to be gathering his thoughts together. Eventually, he starts, in a halted tone, “I was… scared, mostly. Of your reaction, of admitting what HYDRA had done to Bucky, of acknowledging that Bucky was… in a way, responsible for what happened, because I didn’t know for certain.”

_ Bucky?  _ Tony thinks.  _ Bucky’s dead _ . But then, if Captain America’s alive and breathing, why can’t Bucky Barnes be, as well?

“I wasn’t lying when I said I didn’t know it was him. It was just—obvious, and I guess I—I lived in ignorance because I wanted to stay in denial for a little longer. I didn’t want to admit that he was connected to it.” He takes a deep breath. Tony’s getting the feeling Captain America’s talking about something entirely different to what he was thinking. “I didn’t—intentionally set out to, you know, lie. It’s just—how does— _ that _ come up in conversation? That my brainwashed best friend murdered your parents?”   
  
Tony goes very still. His grip tightens on the phone. Very quietly, he says, “My parents were what?”   
  
“What?” Captain America says. “Tony, you— _ what?  _ Don’t you remember seeing it on the—what were  _ you  _ talking about?”

“Rhodey said, he said,” and Tony feels a large ball settle in the middle of his chest, a heavy weight making it hard to breathe, “he said you and I fought, in Siberia. I wanted to know—know why.” All this time, oh god, he had always suspected, but never thought—and all this time, they had been  _ murdered _ . His dear, darling mother, so soft and kind and pure, strangled to death (because those had been bruises shaped like fingers on her neck, but the coroner had ruled it severe whiplash, and Tony had always  _ wondered _ )

“Tony,” Captain America says softly, and isn’t it strange how many times he’s said Tony’s name, like it’s the only word he knows how to use? “What do you remember about the Civil War?”   
  
“Nothing,” Tony blurts out quickly. “I have—amnesia, they say. Retrograde. Last I checked, it was 2007.”

“Oh, my god,” Captain America says, “oh my god. And I just—no. No, this wasn’t supposed to happen again. Not like this.” His voice is thick, as if it’s been clogged with tears. “And you don’t even remember me, do you? Like—I’m coming over.”   
  
Tony breathes in deeply. In through his nose, out through his mouth. His hands are shaking, and he’s aching for a good glass—hell, the entire bottle—of scotch. He glances over wistfully at the alcohol cabinet in the corner. “I don’t think that would be a good idea, Mr. Rogers.”   
  
“Mister—right. 2007. You don’t know me anymore. Did anyone ever tell you we were friends, Tony? I never meant to hurt you. I still care about you. I care about you a lot—”   
  
Tony hangs up. He throws the phone aside. It clatters loudly on the floor. Then he unlocks the cabinet and starts drinking.

The sun is shining on his face.

Tony squeezes his eyes, trying to block out the invading light. It feels like a white-hot welt, searing his head. He turns on his side, burying his aching head into the soft, downy pillow under him. He hasn’t felt a hangover like this in years. 2016 him is a pussy who clearly doesn’t drink as much—if at all.

“You done trying to poison your liver?” asks Rhodey, voice heavy with controlled anger. Tony blearily blinks his eyes open, staring straight at Rhodey, who does not look happy.

“Shut the fuck up,” Tony says. “Like you haven’t been right there with me.”

“You absolute fucking moron,” Rhodey snaps, ignoring everything Tony just said. “You’re on meds. Did you think about that at all before you downed three whole bottles of tequila?”

“Only three? My tolerance has been shot to shit,” Tony remarks. He’s managed six before. It doesn’t matter that he had to be taken to the hospital to get his stomach pumped afterwards.

Rhodey lets out an aggravated sigh, before he digs his fingers into his temple, rubbing hard. “Fuck, I forgot how insufferable you were before Afghanistan.”

Tony latches onto that. Another puzzle piece in his unknown past. “What happened in Afghanistan?”

“The terrorists Stane hired kidnapped you,” Rhodey says flatly. “Don’t change the subject. Why did you decide it would be a good idea to try and poison your liver?”

“Why do I need a reason? Maybe I just wanted to drink.”

“You were crying, Tones. You were holding the phone Steve sent you and crying.” 

Was he? Damn drunk him. Tony doesn’t respond right away, so Rhodey continues, softer this time. 

“FRIDAY’s not telling me anything out of misguided loyalty.”

“That’s my girl,” Tony says fondly, glancing at the ceiling.

“I’m only doing it so you don’t freak out again, don’t get excited,” FRIDAY admonishes.

Tony deflates at that slightly. “Did you know?” he asks eventually, casting his gaze away from Rhodey’s face, staring at the wall behind him. “About my parents?”   
  
Rhodey looks at him. “Know what? You’re going to have to be more specific. You don’t exactly talk about them.”

“About how they—died.”

Rhodey squints, looking entirely confused. So he didn’t know from before. Not that Tony expected him to. But it’s nice to have confirmation. “In a car crash? Tony, is this some sort of trick question?”   
  
Tony twists his mouth, glancing down at the blanket and messing with a loose thread. “You’re wrong. They were killed. That’s what I—found out yesterday. Talking to Captain America.”   


“They— _ what _ ?” Rhodey’s voice is low, disbelieving. “God, it—” He takes a deep breath, in through his nose, out through his mouth. “Okay. Okay. I see why you were—did Steve know? Was he the one who told you?”   
  
“Yep,” Tony says in a monotone voice, popping the ‘p.’ “Good ol’ Captain America.”   
  
“That makes—I need to go talk to him. Get some answers. You’ll be fine here on your own?” Rhodey asks as he starts wheeling away.

“Never alone,” Tony mumbles. He has FRIDAY with him.

Rhodey gives him a soft, melancholic smile at that. “Yeah. We’ve all got your back, Tones.”

Rhodey comes by again later, about an hour after he left. His face is dark, but he forcibly brightens it when he catches sight of Tony. “I talked to Steve. I probably should have done that right away, but—” he lets out a loud breath, “—right. Okay. Things make more sense now. Turns out he knew the entire time, which I’m not even going to get into right now, and you found out in the worst way possible, which is why you fought, and that’s what led to—” he gestures at Tony, “—all this.”

“You angry at him?” Tony asks.   
  
“Angry at him? Of course I’m angry at him!” Rhodey snaps, before he catches himself and seemingly forces all the rage down. Visibly calmer, he says, “Yeah, I am mad at him for not telling you. You don’t just— _ do  _ that to a person. But I also get that he was in a difficult position.” He sighs. “He made a bad call, but it’s not my place to get involved. At the end of the day, it’s up to you. I’m not going to interfere between you and Steve. But I am angry at him. Don’t know if I can ever forgive him for that.”

“There’s nothing to interfere between,” Tony reminds him. “I don’t even know who he is. Not really.”

“Right,” Rhodey says. “I keep forgetting that.” He gives Tony a considering look. “You’re—not like how you used to be.”

“I would imagine that happens after one gets amnesia,” Tony says snidely.

Rhodey shakes his head. “No, I mean that—you’re not like how you were in  _ 2007 _ . You remind me of the current Tony, actually, besides the getting blackout drunk part. He… he doesn’t do that anymore, not to my knowledge.”

Tony’s not even sure how to respond to that.  _ Is  _ he acting differently? He feels largely the same as he always has been, except trapped in an unfamiliar situation. He’s just—finding his bearings, is all. And he still has a stupid cast on his arm. Once he gets that removed, he’s heading out to a nice nightclub to unwind. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, honeybunch, I’m the same as always.”   
  
Rhodey levels him with an unamused look. “Really. You’re quieter, the way you were after Afghanistan. You don’t—I don’t know, you didn’t even flirt with Helen once. You usually tried with  _ every  _ woman you saw.”

There’s a strange, raw feeling on Tony’s skin, like every single nerve has been exposed, pinned, vulnerable to scrutiny. He’s not used to having any of his mannerisms dissected and analyzed like this. “I assure you, Rhodes, I’m the exact same,” he says coolly. “There’s nothing wrong with me. I’m still the—Tony Stark in 2007, not whoever the fuck you know now.”

Rhodey’s lips thin, and he glances down. “Right. You’re not—right. Has FRIDAY said anything about Iron Man to you? Or anyone, actually?”   
  
Tony is taken aback for a second, wondering why the hell his dad’s old saying from Tony’s childhood is suddenly escaping from Rhodey’s mouth, before realizing that he said something else entirely. “No. What the hell is that?”   
  
“You’ll see,” Rhodey says grimly. “And I have absolutely no clue how you’ll react.”

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly I'm not even sure how long it'll take for the next chapter it's kind of plotless. I can guarantee more angst though.
> 
> This is just kind of a fun side thing I'm doing and I don't expect much attention, if any.
> 
> Maybe this will end up being Stony? I kind of want to just keep it gen for now, but we'll see what happens because I don't really have a set plan as of yet.


End file.
